


Primum Non Nocere

by Firecracker26



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 21:34:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2244270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firecracker26/pseuds/Firecracker26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A surgeon at St Barts Hospital comes to Sherlock's attention as a serious increase in narcotics filters out into his homeless network. Is she involved? And why does he find her so intriguing...?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The bare bones of a prospective series idea put into an initial short chapter. My first fan fiction, so I'll hang back to see if it's worth continuing with based on any feedback. Thanks! :)
> 
> Italics are predominantly internal thought processes.

Simultaneously, in two different parts of the hospital, two sets of feet walked along abandoned corridors. One set of feet sheathed with practical, comfortable shoes shuffled uncoordinatedly in comparison with the harsh and purposeful clack of the Pigalle Louboutins in the distance. The ill-fitting and washed out jeans that clung to the boyish legs of the figure hidden further by an oversized white coat made one of the figures look short and frumpy; a stark contrast to the curvaceous, womanly legs sheathed in a satin pencil skirt that belonged to the other. Doors at either end of the pathology lab opened and the two women entered the now shared space. The lesser dressed of the two women jumped. ‘Oh, hello Miss O'Briain! I have your report!’ she shuffled sheepishly and smiled shyly at the tall, dark haired woman who smiled warmly and confidently in return. ‘Thank you, Miss Hooper. Saddle PE?’ the woman responded without looking into the flimsy cardboard file she had taken from the shorter mousy brown female.  
“Yes… how did you-?”  
“Lucky guess,” the sultry woman peered through her thick rimmed glasses. “Thanks a million,” she called as she deftly spun on her pointed toes to turn and leave. “Will you be at the party at the weekend?”  
“Hmm… maybe? Why?” asked the timid pathologist. The more confident of the women stalled at the exit and looked over her shoulder. “You should _definitely_ go. I’d like to get to know _you_ a little better. See you then.” She responded, her voice heavy with seduction and suggestiveness. With a wink she disappeared like a shadow leaving Molly standing abandoned in the large cold room. _Did she just come onto me?_  
“Who is she?” came a deep voice from the far corner of the room.  
“SHERLOCK!” Molly gasped and recoiled, knocking metal instruments off the surface of the stainless steel working slab. “What the HELL do you think you’re doing sneaking up on people like that?”  
“Who is she?” he pressed without taking his eyes away from the space she once occupied.  
“That’s Miss Sara O'Briain, she’s one of the surgeons here. She’s nice. She asked me to go to the-”  
“I was here Molly,” he cut her off abruptly. “And she wasn’t speaking to you.”  
“Wh-what?” the young woman responded confused. “But she… I was-“  
“She saw me at the back of the room. She asked me, but why?” he finally turned to look at Molly who sniggered.  
“Sherlock, I hardly think-“  
“Yes, I tend to agree. You should start some time.” He spun to turn his back on Molly, his large coat tails breezing behind him. As he pulled his collar up to cover the nape of his neck. “You should go though, Molly. It’d be rather nice for you to get out of this lab for a while.” And with that he was gone. She looked down at her plain shoes, they were scuffed and boring. _Maybe she should go. She doesn’t get out nearly enough. It’ll be fun. And Sherlock might be there now… Lovely, lovely Sherlock._

__  
~  


“She’s involved, John. It’s as clear as day.” The tall man dressed sharply all in black paced back and forth in front of the window of the first floor apartment. He ran his hand through his hair, frustrated at his lack of understanding. “Are you sure, Sherlock?” the sandy haired man looked up from the battered but comfortable armchair, a concerned expression plastered across his face. He was met with a look of disdain as Sherlock halted in his tracks. “Yes, John. I AM sure. But WHO is she? Why should she be involved?” He spun and descended to rest in the chair placed in front of the laptop that sat upon scattered papers and amongst empty teacups.

_O'Brian surgeon st barts London_

He tapped furiously onto the keypad translating onto the search bar. _Not O'Brian. O'Briain._  
“Orthopaedic surgeon… educated in Dublin?” he was confused initially by her roots before his eyes suddenly hardened.  
“IRA?” John queried, “They’re restless.”  
“Of course not!” the detective spat. “Much worse. Educated in Ireland, 8 years of working in London.” John stared on unable to keep track of Sherlock’s thought processes.  
“Moriarty,” Sherlock muttered only just loud enough for John to make out the name.  
“Come on, Sherlock… you don’t think he’s involved?”  
“No. I know he is. She has the means, the source… but what is her motive? I think we may just have a party to attend!” he clapped his hands together eagerly. John snorted. By this stage he had moved over to stand behind Sherlock to peer curiously at the screen. “You don’t really think _she,”_ he paused and pointed at the thumbnail of the classically beautiful woman, “asked _you_ on a date?”  
“Not a date, John. An appointment.” Sherlock corrected, standing and moving towards the door. John hovered the cursor over the thumbnail and tapped to see an enlarged, full length image of the woman in a figure hugging red dress. “Just when you think you’re starting to understand women…” he mumbled and shook his head to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock attend the party. Will Sherlock find any of the answers he is expecting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's music playing in the background of this scene. I quelled my urge to stipulate which songs it ought to be because I felt everyone would have a much happier time imagining their own favourites. I quite like Jose Gonzalez - Heartbeats followed by Kings of Leon - Radioactive but they're merely suggestions. :)

The following Saturday the two men showed up to the main entrance of the 5 star hotel the hospital fund raiser was being held at. “Let me do the talking,” John warned. It had become apparent that Sherlock had invited John secondary to the need for a medical colleague to gain access to the function in the first place.  
“Hi, John Watson + 1”  
“Hmmm, don’t see yer name ‘ere, mate?”  
“Oh… well it must be? I’m one of the doctors at St Bart’s.” He quickly retrieved his wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket and produced his battered but just-about-valid hospital ID. Sherlock stood stony faced the entire time observing the doorman. Within seconds he had deduced he had a toddler at home and a Rottweiler. _I don’t care much for either_ , he thought absently.

Sherlock never had use for the mace spray he had in his pocket, much to John’s relief. Once inside they scanned their eyes across the room and took in a large group of rather drunk well-dressed men and women dancing to what Sherlock deemed ‘awful racket’. He almost instantly spied the surgeon in question. She was standing by the wall, champagne in hand, talking to a tall red headed man who looked marginally younger than her.  Sherlock deduced from that moment that she had a clear effect on men. They were attracted to her, she was confident, accomplished, ambitious and intelligent, but demure, modest and vulnerable at all the right moments. She was calculated and his deductions were running rather to-and-fro in contrast with his usual fluid solution to any other human puzzle. And what’s more, he rather liked a challenge…  
“Sherlock! You did come then!” came a shy voice from behind him.  
“Hello, Molly. I’m a bit busy,” he dismissed her, not once taking his eyes off the woman at the opposite end of the hall.  
“Are you? You don’t look it.” She demanded, less inhibited thanks to the free wine she had imbibed prior to his arrival.  
“Yes. I am. You’ve had some wine, I see.”  
“You see everything, don’t you Sherlock?” she muttered, frustrated by his repetitive knock-backs. Without a response he walked off determinedly.  
“He really is like that with everyone, Molly.” John comforted her. “It’s nothing personal.” She nodded dejectedly before returning to the group of girls she had left.

The surgeon was standing in the centre of the room talking with a couple when the DJ decided to lower the tempo of the evening significantly by playing a slower, melodic tune. As the couple turned away from her leaving her without distraction for the first time since his arrival, he identified that moment as the chance to communicate with her. He moved swiftly and purposefully through the crowd towards her and seamlessly snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him as he arrived at her back. She placed her arms around his neck as he placed his cheek to hers so they could speak without anyone eavesdropping.  
“Do you always loiter in dark corners?” she teased. Her voice was low and sultry in his ear and the hairs on the nape of his neck stood up involuntarily. It had been years since he had been this close to another human being let alone a woman. “I try not to make a habit of it, _Miss O'Briain_.” He responded coolly guiding her gently as they swayed to the music.  
“Oooh, A* student, does his homework… and might _you_ like to introduce _yourself_ , sir?”  
“Sherlock Holmes. Why did you invite me here?”  
“Because I saw the _man_ watching me. I saw _your_ face. _You_ wanted to know more.”  
“Don’t be so arrogant, Miss O'Briain. You’re a criminal.”  
“Dear oh dear, not so much as a ‘May I have this dance?’ and now accusations like this? You’ll never woo a lady with that approach, Mr Holmes…” she allowed her red lips to brush his earlobe making him swallow heavily, his Adam’s Apple bobbing aggressively within his pale, slender neck in his attempts to moisten his throat.  
“I know you are involved in the drugs being lost from St Bart’s hospital. The narcotics supply onto the streets, fentanyl, diamorpine… it’s rocketed. I know it’s coming from this hospital and I know it’s coming from YOU, Miss O'Briain. You have the means and a source. Orthopaedic surgery, some of the highest amounts of opioid prescriptions come from those theatres. I KNOW.” He growled into her ear. She ran her right hand up into his soft curls that rested over his occiput and pressed her breasts harder against his pectoralis muscles.  
“Don’t you think you should be talking to our anaesthetists, Mr Holmes?” she smirked upwards into his cold, emotionless grey eyes.

“Of course, not. Too obvious. The surgeon has nothing to do with the prescriptions at the head of the bed but they’re qualified enough to sign off on missing vials…” he whispered, quietening his deductions lest fellow couples overhear.  
“Mmm, I do enjoy Cluedo. I’d _love_ to play with you… can we do it in the dining room with the-“  
“This is not a game _you_ want to be playing, Miss O'Briain,” he cut her off as she condescended him salaciously.

Molly looked on at the pair who, both dressed in black and white, melted into one another. They swayed to the music and even from the distance she could see the intensity as they spoke. They were a match, vicious and keen.  
“It’s not what you think, Molly.” John attempted to console her, guessing from her face that she was struggling with the scene unfolding before her. John would have too had he not known the motive, and if he were totally honest with himself he still was regardless. In all the years he had known Sherlock he had not once been in a relationship, nor had any encounter with either sex; the sight of him pressed up against a beautiful woman was bizarre and a little disconcerting.

“You’re no fun…” she sighed. “What do you really want to know?”  
“Why you’re doing it.”  
“I have nothing to do with anything you’re suggesting.”  
“You’re lying. You’re not the orchestrator, but you’re a facilitator. Why. Are. You. Facilitating?” he asked determinedly through gritted teeth.  
“It really isn’t worth my job to disclose that kind of information to a stranger who lurks around in hospitals after midnight,” she retorted.  
“Why is your job in jeopardy?”  
“I did some things in the past that could come back to haunt me. I keep my head down, do my job well, sign the odd form. I’m clean. If I tell you, you’ll start digging. I end up without a job. Or worse. Dead.”  
“Moriarty… he helped you, you couldn’t afford an education. He paid fees and you in return repaid him in spades.” She stiffened against him. “I assume with an intelligence and insight like yours, Mr Holmes, that you know what you’re getting yourself into. But I will not be part of it,” she brought her hands suddenly to his chest to push him away but his left hand came swiftly to grasp hers as she spun away. She spun back to face him back into his grasp, the movements becoming a passionate dance as opposed to a stilted escape. The music had raised in tempo but was charged with sexual energy. He stared into her face. “I will solve this. Let me take your case.”  
“You’re delicious… can I keep you?” she rotated her hips against his groin before he dipped her right back to swing her in an arc supporting her at the bottom of her spine, gripping her right hand tightly. When she came back level with his face again their faces were merely an inch apart. “Will you let me take the case? Your opportunity to be free you from him.”  
“You’ll sell me down the river, this is a game to you.”  
“You have my word.”  
  
John was beginning to grow as uncomfortable as Molly as the pair stared incredulously at Sherlock’s passionate advances.  
“He’s a good actor…” John said aloud to make both himself and the timid young woman beside him feel better.  
“He’s a good dancer…” huffed Molly into her glass of champagne, make up less perfect than it once had been and her skirt skewed having given up on the evening all together.  
  
“It’s going to be difficult to leave this dance inconspicuously, Mr Holmes. It isn’t the social norm to dance like this then leave without a believable climax…” She mused, achingly sexy while sliding her arms under his black dinner jacket to run her hands over his shoulder blades and toned back.  
“I suppose you would know better than I…” he found himself purring involuntarily at the creature that moved before him.  
“She turned and dipped, gyrating her rear against his groin, clearly doing everything to shake his resolve. Sherlock might even have admitted at that moment that it was truly rattled as his long pale fingers gripped her hips. When she finally turned back to his face their noses touched and Sherlock’s eyes fluttered closed. Molly and John were physically holding their breath as they waited for the next step in the bewildering sequence that had played out on the dance floor.  
Sherlock was brought back to earth by the cracking sound of skin on skin and the searing pain that erupted on his left cheek. His head snapped down to the right in the direction of the blow and his eyes shot open, just in time to see the woman’s hand fall back to her side.

Both Molly’s and John’s jaws dropped to open positions. Unable to stifle his laughter John’s face broke into a shocked grin while Molly jumped to her feet. 

Sara smirked, “Maybe another time, Mr Holmes.” She winked teasingly and spun on her Louboutin heels and made her way towards the door. He smirked unflinchingly at the floor, regardless of the pain that was growing to a throb in the shape of a red hand print on his cheek, he was rarely surprised and there was something incredibly attractive about the unknown for him. The game _was_ on… and in more ways than one.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Boys return home and Sherlock is made aware that his elder brother knows a little more than he'd realised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding a little more than I thought I would. After this I think I'll allow a few readers to come ahead and give their verdict before careering on with something that mightn't be to anyone's taste!  
> All comments (good or bad) more than welcome!

“What happened?” John queried once they returned to their flat on Baker Street.  
“What happened when?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow, not once slowing his pace as he ploughed through the door of the apartment. Not a word had been exchanged between the two men on their return home in the taxi.  
“Are you _bloody_ serious?” John stood in the middle of the floor as Sherlock threw his suit jacket over the hard wooden chair at his work desk.  
“What goes on in your head? It must be complete bliss never having more than one train of thought.” Sherlock replied disdainfully with a flourish of his right hand before flopping onto the leather sofa against the plaster wall, the wall already bullet wounded and tattooed with yellow spray paint.  
“Sherlock, she slapped you harder than I’ve seen, quite frankly, since I returned from war. What. Did. You. Say?”  
“Not enough…….” He drifted into his own thoughts drawing his fingertips to his chin and began negotiations with the ceiling prints. He would most likely be there for hours, maybe days. John knew to remove himself, he could huff and puff, pace and slam around but most likely Sherlock would reside in his unbearable silence for hours to come.  
“Shout if you need me,” John called absently as he ascended the wooden stairs to his own room knowing the call would never come.  
 _She’s educated, seductive, closed, vulnerable… why is she letting me in?  
Because it’s Moriarty, HE is letting me in… or is she finally breaking under the pressure of his influence… THINK SHERLOCK. THINK!!_

“Good morning, little brother,” Mycroft sung from the top of the stairs, only hours later.  
“MYCROFT! It’s 6 in the morning! What the hell are you doing here?” Sherlock stirred from his intense thoughts, rousing his forearm above his eyes to shield his vision from the sunlight streaming through the windows at his crown. He frowned at the impeccably dressed gentleman perched on his umbrella in the doorframe. He hadn’t noticed the white light outlining the dancing dust prior to his brother’s arrival. The sun had risen during the time which he struggled with the information he had gathered from the surgeon in the hours before, the time which he had failed to find slumber because of her. Frankly, her verbal information had been transparent but the physical interaction and body language had been one of the biggest challenges he’d had in years. All night he had repeatedly applied nicotine patches to his forearms as his thoughts spiralled around the main case but more than occasionally darted into his own personal memories from the night before – although if questioned he most likely would have denied his distraction.

“I hear you were socialising last night?” Mycroft enquired, knowing all of the details already due to his perpetual surveillance on Sherlock at all times.  
“Hardly,” Sherlock snorted, “I was investigating for a case.”  
“Oh, how delightful,” Mycroft smiled warmly. “And what part of this investigation requires you making a scene by dancing seductively with a woman in front of an entire room of people?” he added, his face hardening, shattering his feigned acceptance of Sherlock’s explanation.  
“There was no scene, Mycroft. What’s this about? What do you want?”  
“I want to make sure you know who you are dealing with, brother mine.” Mycroft answered quietly.  
“I can look after myself, I’m not a child anymore.”  
“Yes, that may be so but you are playing with fire. That _woman_ is very dangerous, as is her employer.”  
“I know very well who her employer is, Mycroft… and we have unfinished business.”  
“As long as you are aware of what you are choosing to involve yourself with, Sherlock." He stared harshly allowing the words to hang in the air in an attempt to impress Sherlock with their gravity. "Also, our parents have invited us to the cottage for the weekend.” He added, changing the subject suddenly with a look of disgust upon his face.  
“They’re worried about the endoscopy father had 2 weeks ago, they think he has cancer. Benign polyp.”  
“I don’t want to know how you know that but you ought to go with me, I’m not doing this alone.”  
“Fine, just go away would you?”  
“-from a pig but a grunt. Good day to you…” Mycroft raised his eyebrows and descended the steps behind him.  
Now reluctantly upright, Sherlock slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket to retrieve his mobile and felt his fingers brush a piece of paper which had not been present previously. He lifted out into the light to inspect it. _Her mobile number…_  
  
Succeeded by a brief note.

_If you have any more tactless questions…_  
 _Take me to dinner_  
 _SO_  
 _x_

He found himself smiling involuntarily, he enjoyed the fact she’d managed to slip something into his pocket without him noticing. It was challenging and unnerving but at the same time a game that he rarely got to play. He lifted his phone and punched the numbers on the scrap of paper into his contacts list...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short encounter gives an important lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm quite enjoying adding little by little despite the small uptake. Maybe given a little time :)

“Morning, Molly!” Sara smiled walking through the main doors of St Bart’s, the morning sunlight seemed to illuminate her skin whiter than it had appeared to Molly before.  
“Morning,” she replied coolly.  
“Did you have fun on Friday?”  
“It was alright.” Molly still hadn’t softened to the other woman’s advances.  
“Oh, you think so? I had a really good time. I thought it was really well organised.”  
“Mmm. You seemed to have a bit of trouble with a friend of mine,” Molly emphasised protectively. She was rather angered that someone should think they could treat Sherlock in that way.  
“Trouble?” the surgeon paused wondering what she was referring to. “Oh, that? Haha, you know him? Is he always so bad at chatting girls up?” she rolled her eyes, covering the true reason for their meeting causing Molly to gulp down the dismay in her throat.  
“He was chatting you up?” she frowned believing the other woman's explanation.  
“Well, you know what men are like! Anyway, I’m in theatre this morning. I’ll see you at lunch? Tell Sherlock I was asking after him,” she winked mischievously. Molly forced a smile but failed to have the energy to respond verbally. Sara walked into the women’s changing rooms to switch from her leopard print dress to green scrubs. She unzipped the fabric and let it slide down her arms before stepping out of it. She shook out her hair and made a move to slide down her hold ups when she noticed a tall figure come into her vision from behind a locker.  
“Oh, how bold,” she smiled and tracked her eyes up from the floor to the face staring across at her. She straightened up, and made no attempt to cover her almost naked body save for her black lace underwear and hold ups.  
“I need more information,” the man took a step towards her.  
“No, you want more information.”  
“Moriarty isn’t idiotic enough to run this from a higher level. There is someone else involved.”  
Sara cocked her hip and placed a hand upon it with a disapproving face.  
“You come here to spy on a lady in her underwear and you want to talk about another man? Oh dear,” she teased.  
“I wasn’t spying,” Sherlock retorted a little too quickly.  
“Mmmhmm, sure,” she stared unflinchingly into his eyes. Finally, he shifted uncomfortably and turned his head away.  
“Well, I can see this isn’t getting us anywhere.”  
“Why are you here, Mr Holmes?” the woman sighed.  
“I knew you’d be here,” he turned back to face her allowing his gaze to graze her breasts subtly on the return.  
“You’re in the women’s changing room. Nowhere else in this hospital you might have run into me?”  
He stared at her. “I need a name, Miss O'Briain. Give it to me and I can leave you in peace.”  
“The Jaguar.”  
“The Jaguar?”  
“Yes.”  
“And they go by no other name? I haven’t seen any consultants signing that on prescriptions in here.” He stated, voice laden with scepticism.  
“Oh, Sherlock… you aren’t using your brain today,” she slid one of her hold ups down her thigh, followed by the other. He stood in silence unable to turn his gaze as more and more alabastor flesh came into view. He observed her picking through the piles of starched uniforms. She purposefully bent over as far as possible to choose from the lowest shelf exposing her rounded rear to him. He allowed his eyes to dip down for a split second before he finally checked himself and retorted to what she had just accused him of.  
“What are you talking about?” he sniffed.  
“He doesn’t work in the hospital.”  
“Distributer.”  
She smirked. “Now you’re thinking.”  
“I need you to take me to him.”  
“Couldn’t the fabulously intelligent Mr Holmes find him all by himself?” she flirted with him walking towards him still fully exposed.  
“Will you take me to him?”  
“I’d definitely take you…” she paused, her facial expression changing from seduction to sincere. “I can tell you where to find him. Now get out.” For some reason Sherlock failed to move his feet, somehow enjoying the proximity they were sharing. “GO!” she shouted with a smile, “Before I get security!”  
He spun and without a word he disappeared through the back corridor exit.


End file.
